Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law (34 page)

A second group
of horses galloped up and joined the growing throng, these ones
free of the trappings of slavery.

Kieran looked
at Chanter. "Did you call them?"

The Mujar
nodded, grimacing at the slowness of the healing. The water was
finished, but the wounds were only half healed.

More hoof
beats drummed the earth, and this time the horses that burst from
the forest bore riders. Talsy leapt from the piebald before it
stopped, running to kneel beside Chanter. She flung an accusing
look at Kieran as she pulled out her water skin.

"What
happened?"

"We fell into
a tar pit." Kieran gestured at the crater, his head still pounding.
"We were running from the Torrak Jahar, and we fell in."

"You idiot,"
she snapped, pouring water onto the half healed wounds in Chanter's
stomach. "Why didn't you go around it?"

The Mujar
groaned as he convulsed again, unable to speak until the spasms
subsided, then he gritted, "I didn't sense it in time... not
Kieran's fault."

Talsy stroked
the hair from Chanter's brow, shooting Kieran a glare. They helped
the Mujar to his feet, and his strength returned as the Earthpower
released him. Talsy frowned at the blackened crater and the
splatters of burnt earth scattered about. Some trees still
smouldered, and black smoke rolled up from the dregs of burning
tar.

"So where are
the Riders?"

"Gone." Kieran
nodded at the crater. "They were in the tar when I used the sword
to set it alight."

"While Chanter
was in it?"

The Mujar put
a hand on her arm. "He did the right thing. Crayash cannot harm me,
it freed me from the tar."

Brin came
over, his face grim. "We must go before the Torrak Jahar come."

Kieran nodded.
"As soon as we find the stone."

"You didn't
get it?" Talsy rounded on him, her eyes bright.

"I did, but it
fell when we went into the tar," he said, rubbing his head. "It's
around here somewhere."

The Aggapae
divested the last of the tame horses of their tack. Brin bellowed
for Shan, who came running, and sent him to search for the stone
with his colt, then turned to the Mujar. "If we take these horses
with us, they can disguise our tracks. We can send them away in
groups, the Torrak Jahar won't know which prints to follow. Perhaps
two will carry you and Talsy if you're too tired."

Chanter shook
his head. "I'm not tired, but I would rather travel by air for a
while."

"We'll need
one to carry that damned stone," Kieran growled, "it weighs a
ton."

Chanter
approached the horses, who gathered around to snuffle and nudge him
in delight, giving low wickers of greeting and squeals of
excitement. He communed with them, shared their thoughts and
feelings, communicating his need to their eager, generous minds.
They vied for the honour of aiding him, nipped and pushed each
other aside to be chosen by him, but when he returned only two
followed.

"This one will
carry Talsy." He indicated a pretty palomino mare that arched her
neck and pranced. "The other will carry the stone, but he'll need a
saddle."

Kieran saddled
the big bay while the others joined the search for the stone, beat
the bushes and parted the long grass, bent double to peer at the
ground. Thorn found it amongst the trees, and Shan strutted with
pride at his colt's talent for sniffing out pieces of the staff. As
Kieran and Brin lashed the stone in place aboard the bay, a distant
thunder of hooves came drifting on the wind, and the horses shifted
as they scented it.

"Time to go."
Kieran tugged the rope tight and headed for the piebald as the
others mounted.

Chanter became
an eagle and took wing, heading for the distant mountains, and the
herd followed, shielding the chosen in their midst.

Law lay on his
bed and listened to the swirling golden light in his head. Its
whispers seemed to be meaningless words blended in a jumble, yet
the more he strived to make sense of them, the more sure he became
that they could make sense, if only he could understand them. The
light and its mysterious whispers preoccupied him, filling his time
with contemplation.

Letta's call
cut through his concentration and snatched him from his musings.
Another meal was ready, and he rose to stretch and yawn before
making his way to the eating chamber. Despite his lack of exercise
and healthy appetite, the young Mujar's physique remained slender
and whipcord.

Sitting at the
table, he ate the bowl of stew Letta had prepared, ignoring her
affectionate pats on his head. Since the new women's arrival,
several changes had taken place. Vosh had become enamoured with a
buxom brunette, and Letta had ordered him to leave their chamber
and go and live with the woman. Vosh had protested that it was as
much his chamber as hers, and easily big enough for them all. Letta
had adamantly demanded his absence and pointed out that, since it
had been enlarged and improved for him, it was in fact Law's
chamber. The argument had been settled when Letta had asked Law who
he wished to stay, and he had chosen her. Vosh muttered that of
course the Mujar would choose her, she did the cooking. Letta
insisted that it was because she was Law's mother and Vosh had
cuckolded them both.

Since then,
Law had hardly seen Vosh, and his sole duty now was to go to the
semi-ant's great food stores when Letta told him to and order the
workers to bring more food to his chamber. They gave him the best
food, and Letta created wonderful meals from it. Law was content.
He wanted nothing more than that which he received in his home.
Letta made friends with some of the new women, though not the buxom
brunette, and they visited her often to chat and enjoy her food. At
these times, Law retreated to his sleeping room and Letta defended
his privacy from her friends’ curiosity.

Law had almost
finished his meal when Vosh came in, braving Letta's indignant
glare to approach his foster son. Letta frowned at his pallor and
haggard look as he sat opposite the Mujar and leant forward.

"Law, there's
something going on in the hive. The workers are running around in
confusion, the warriors, too. They can't tell me much, but I think
something's wrong with the queen, and I think I know what."

Law spooned
his food with a shrug, but Letta demanded, "What's wrong with the
queen?"

"It's those
grubs, the ones the men sired. They've reached maturity, and I
think they've attacked the queen."

"Why would
they attack their own queen?"

"They're a
different breed. They're half Trueman. The grubs must have matured
into warriors and young queens, and they're trying to take over the
hive." Vosh thumped the table. "I knew they'd be dangerous; I tried
to warn her! They're clever, and they want to rule the hive. There
must be some fertile males amongst them, and evidently they don't
wish to leave this hive and establish their own, as they should. If
they kill the old queen, the workers and warriors will accept their
rule."

"But surely
the queen's warriors will defend her?" Letta frowned.

"I think they
are, and there's a big battle raging down there. But they won't be
able to protect her. You know how it works. The queen lays her eggs
in batches, thousands at a time. By the time a batch reaches
maturity, most of the old workers and warriors are ready to die.
They're at least half insect still, and they don't live all that
long. There must be some younger ones there, but if the entire new
batch is attacking the queen, they'll fail. Once they've killed the
queen, they'll come for us."

"Why would
they want to harm us?"

"Because we're
outsiders," he said. "We don't fit in. They'll see us as useless
intruders. The old queen brought us here to breed with; the young
queens won't need us for that."

"Well, Law can
just command them, like he did before, can't he?" Letta glanced at
her foster son.

Law paused to
contemplate a chunk of meat on his spoon, a blob of mingled silver,
gold and blue, then ate it. Vosh seemed to be waiting for him to
speak, but he had nothing to say, and besides, no one had asked him
a question. The running of the hive did not concern him, that was
the semi-ants' domain, and they ran it however they chose. Vosh's
hands clenched, but he kept his tone level.

"Law, will you
help us?"

The Mujar
considered this. "No Wish."

"No Wish?
After all we've done for you? Fed you, clothed you, given you a
place to stay?"

Law pondered
again, while Vosh waited on tenterhooks. "The creatures of this
hive have sheltered and fed me since your last wish, not you."

"Letta cooks
for you!"

"Letta, yes,
not you."

"Okay." Vosh
turned to Letta. "You ask him."

She said,
"Law, Wish."

"Wish," he
allowed.

"Protect us
from the manants."

The Mujar
turned his head in her direction. "Granted."

Vosh slumped.
"You'll command the new queens? Make the same deal with them as you
did with the old one?"

Law shrugged,
scraping the last dregs of gravy from his bowl. "If that is Letta's
Wish."

"If she wants
to go on living, it is."

Letta raised
her chin and opened her mouth, but Law pushed away his bowl and
stood, turning towards the door. Vosh jumped up and followed,
catching his arm.

"Wait until
the battle's over, Law. It could be dangerous to go down there
now."

The Mujar
turned his head towards the Trueman. "None of the creatures of this
hive would harm a Mujar."

"Well, maybe
not intentionally, but if they're fighting, you could get
hurt."

Law tugged his
arm from the man's sweaty grip. "I will go now."

Vosh stepped
back, and Law sensed his irritation at what he clearly took to be
arrogance on Law's part, when the Mujar was simply stating facts.
Letta had asked for a Wish, and he saw no point in delaying his
journey to the centre of the hive. He had no notion of fighting and
battles, bloodshed and killing, and was curious. His inborn
knowledge told him that no natural creature would harm Mujar, save
Truemen.

The Mujar
walked down the tunnel that led in the direction of the queen's
chamber, guided by his inner sight. Workers scurried past, giving
way to him, and the warriors that guarded tunnel convergences stood
aside to let him pass. He sensed their confusion and anxiety,
frowning. The tunnel's still air was rich with pheromones and the
mingled scents of fear, danger and aggression. The odour grew
stronger as he went deeper, becoming mixed with sorrow, death and a
deep underlying warning he did not understand. The alarm indicated
a danger to the hive, yet no intruders menaced it. He continued on
into the citadel's bowels, uncaring that the light this far down
was insufficient for normal eyes.

Law arrived at
the entrance to the queen's vast chamber, which its towering air
vent lighted. The workers adjusted the vent to keep the temperature
exactly right by either opening or blocking it. Now it was open,
and the lance of sunlight fell on a grisly scene. Law allowed the
image to form on his inner eye, amazed and horrified by it.
Thousands of mangled and torn warriors and workers littered the
floor. The sound of chitin-armoured heads and jaws clashing
together filled the room with scraping, clicking and crunching as
the semi-ant warriors fought. The giant queen lay helpless behind a
wall of defenders, their huge mandibles locked with the jaws and
pincer hands of the creatures they battled.

The queen's
constant release of a powerful command scent brought a stream of
fresh warriors to defend her, called from all parts of the hive to
fight for their monarch and mother. Workers tended her vast
leathery abdomen, but her foreparts moved in agitation as she
sensed her impending doom. This had caused her to order some of her
workers into battle too, but the slashing, serrated fangs that
protruded from the attackers' under-slung jaws killed them
swiftly.

The floor
oozed with mangled, fleshy workers. Fallen warriors' armoured
carapaces mixed with the sticky fluid, their wings crushed and
torn. The stench of blood and flesh mingled with the fighters'
pungent aromas and the queen's sweet scents. To his senses, the
cavern seethed with a mass of glittering blue Shissar, streaked and
ribbed with broken Dolana, and Crayash distinguished the
living.

The muddled
perception defied his brain to unravel it, and he tried to make
sense of it. The queen's bulk stood out, but her ring of protectors
disappeared into the melee and the attackers surged to and fro. The
attackers' details were lost to Law's limited perception, but their
forms seemed grotesque and ponderous, far larger than the
semi-ants; well-armed and vicious.

As Law
hesitated, part of the defenders' wall collapsed, and several
manants charged over the struggling warriors towards the queen.
Workers rushed to block the way, only to be slaughtered in seconds.
Warriors flooded into the breach to confront the attackers, forcing
them back with the fury of their devoted protection. The queen
exuded fear now in a sickly scent, waves of muscular contractions
rippling her form, but she was unable to move from her bed. Her
warriors raced to her defence, pouring into the chamber to fight
their way to her side, but the battle was already lost.

The original
breach gave way again as the manants discovered tactics in their
short battle experience. Warriors flung themselves at the threat,
reckless in their desperation, but the attackers reached the
queen's egg-filled abdomen and slashed its fragile skin with razor
teeth. Workers strived to block them, but the manants ripped them
aside and continued to rend the queen's quivering skin. She clicked
words of terrible sorrow and regret, calling out for mercy, but her
children only slashed more fiercely at her wounded flank, and blood
poured from it.